


Pictures Of You

by randomling



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AJ's homecoming is not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures Of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trumpeterofdoom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=trumpeterofdoom).



JC had turned his fucking phone off.

AJ considered leaving another message, but he was pretty sick of coming off as the stalker boyfriend. JC was probably holed up in his studio at home, feverishly writing songs and then just as feverishly throwing them away. Or getting drunk with pretty-boy actors barely out of their teens.

Not that AJ felt old, or anything.

He put the phone back in his pants pocket and leaned back against the cool leather of the car seat. It was almost one a.m.: the flight had been delayed, and when he'd finally got through airport security, AJ had fallen into the car without thinking about it. After two months criss-crossing Europe, he would have thought it'd be great to be back home, but all he felt was tired and grey and irritable. Ready to sleep for a week.

They crawled through traffic at first, and then they hit the freeway, and AJ watched lights flash past the window as the car picked up speed. He was fiddling with his phone as they drove, flicking through menus at random, occasionally holding down the 2 key, always releasing it just before speed-dial kicked in. He'd already decided not to keep calling: it would only go through to voicemail, just like the last five times he'd called.

He could call JC's house. And when JC didn't pick up, he'd be left thumbing through his contacts, and dialling mutual friends, and that would finish up with Chris Kirkpatrick laughing at him, harsh and tinny across the phone line. Chris, who'd spent years sleeping with JC, understood AJ a lot better than AJ would have liked.

No.

He closed his address book for the last time, shoved the phone in his pocket, and pointedly folded his hands across his stomach.

Things had been so _good._ After everything, after years of on-and-off, years of fuck-ups and arguments, these last few months had been, finally, so fucking good. So good that he was surprised at himself, a little, that all it took was one night of not being able to talk to JC right when he wanted him, and the instant question in his head was, _Now what?_ He thought he'd lost the twitchy insecurity that had once - not so long ago, he guessed - had him wondering what JC was doing and who he was with every minute of the day. They'd talked. Gotten past it, moved on.

The drive seemed to be taking impossibly long. All AJ wanted right now was to get home and fall into bed. And wake up to a series of messages - oblivious or apologetic or both - from JC.

He closed his eyes and tried to doze, but the back of his mind was alive with worry, and his left hand was digging for his phone again. He opened it up with his thumb and, after a second of just staring at the background - a close-up of JC's lesbian shirt; only the two of them knew that, in the larger picture, that was all JC was wearing – went into his texts and re-read the last one he'd gotten from JC, just before he got on the plane.

_luv u - c u when u get back xx_

AJ sighed.

That led him on to surfing through the other messages in his phone: JC, Nick, Kevin, Brian, JC again. Good luck messages for his solo show, updates from Howie's vacation, drunken randomness from Nick. Later, he found himself digging through his pictures folder, looking for that shirt-and-nothing else picture of JC. It wasn't there, but he did find a couple of photos of Mason, and one of Baylee. A few blurry pictures of God-only-knew-what that somehow proved Nick was living it up now he was back in the States.

A _very_ out-of-focus shot of JC's dick - but that had to be _months_ old.

The car drew up into AJ's driveway at last, and AJ checked the time on his phone before putting it away. One-twenty. Once the car was gone, he dumped his bags in the hallway and leaned against the wall for a few moments, just letting himself breathe. He'd been looking forward to getting back to his house for months, but now, dark and empty, it felt like a depressing place.

AJ shook himself and turned toward the stairs. He instantly trod on a leather boot, and glanced down, sighing, because how many fucking weeks had that been there for? It was JC's, of course. That was just another side effect of dating JC Chasez: shoes and CDs and clothes and and jewellery took over your house. AJ prodded the boot with his foot, cast around for its twin, and kicked them both under the hall table where he wouldn't break his neck on them come morning.

It seemed like couldn't walk one fucking step in his own house, these days, without tripping over JC's stuff. Weird French cheese in the refrigerator, an offensively-pink sweater draped over the bannister, guitar case propped on the landing, three kinds of shoes in the hall. AJ shook his head. The sooner he got into bed, and got his mind off of JC, the better.

Heavily, he made his way up the stairs, fumbled into the bedroom, switched on the light; and almost an hour's worth of tension and worry suddenly melted in his chest, leaving only liquid warmth.

JC was sprawled on top of the covers, asleep, one hand folded under his head, legs spread apart, stark naked. His phone was sitting on the nightstand, inches from JC's boneless fingers, screen blank, battery probably dead. AJ laughed quietly and automatically reached into his pocket for his phone, because this was fucking priceless. When the phone's camera clicked, JC stirred, and his eyes blinked open sleepily.

"Hey, cat," JC said, stretching out on his back.

AJ grinned at him, speechless with relief. JC looked down at himself briefly and grinned too, like he'd forgotten what he wasn't wearing. There was a moment where neither of them moved, and then JC propped himself up on his elbows, like he was going to get up. AJ held up his hand.

"No," he said. "Don't move."

JC flopped back onto the bed and smiled.

His eyelashes fluttered, and he opened his arms, like a summons. The effect was oddly feminine, though JC's naked body was pretty obviously male, and absolutely beautiful. AJ climbed onto the bed and into JC's arms; JC held onto AJ's waist, clinging, caressing and comforting all at once. They kissed.

JC was all masculine aggression and feminine grace, his tongue pacing out a complicated dance with AJ's, their bodies shifting and sliding together. AJ found his hands in JC's hair without remembering having put them there, and he didn't feel tired any more, but strong and urgent and alive, pressing himself as close to JC as he could get.

JC pulled away, and he was still smiling. "Welcome home, baby," he said.

AJ definitely didn't need to sleep right now, he decided, resting his head lightly against JC's shoulder. JC's hands wandered up underneath AJ's shirt, caressing his spine, and AJ kissed JC's neck, keeping it tender and slow. "Missed you," he murmured.

"Mm," JC said. "You, too."

AJ rolled on top of JC, and JC's hands wandered freely, skimming up to AJ's shoulder-blades and down over his ass in long, light strokes. AJ kissed his way around JC's throat, down to JC's collarbone and back up to the side of his neck, teasing with his tongue, and every so often scraping lightly with his teeth, making JC chuckle and growl. After a few minutes, AJ lifted his head.

"Don't _stop,_ man," JC said.

"I was worried," AJ said, because it needed saying.

JC just frowned. "Worried?"

"I couldn't get you on the phone," AJ said. JC cocked his head, and AJ sighed. "I was being an idiot."

JC touched AJ's face lightly and smiled. "You were," he said, but his tone was soft and affectionate. JC's hand moved up to stroke AJ's hair. "Big dork."

AJ buried his face in JC's chest, happy to be wrong but kind of churned up. JC's hand ran over AJ's head, and AJ kissed JC's chest lightly, not wanting to look up.

"Love you," JC said softly. "Let me show you, huh? Huh?" He grabbed the hem of AJ's shirt and tugged it upward, and AJ lifted himself up so that JC could strip it off, and met JC's eyes. JC's face was all tenderness and desire, blue eyes shining, lips curved into a wicked smile, and AJ's heart twisted and shivered in his chest.

"Okay," AJ said.

They stayed where they were, wrapped around each other, long enough to fuck. AJ let JC take charge, undressing AJ the rest of the way, lovingly fitting the condom over AJ's dick, telling AJ when, and how, and how hard. AJ moved inside of JC, feeling the warmth of them build inside him until it overflowed; and JC owned him, heart and mind, body and soul. Right now, right here, they were together, and it was perfect, and AJ couldn't be happier to have been proved wrong.

Afterwards, AJ rolled onto his back and let JC deal with the condom, shove AJ's boots off the bed, and rearrange the covers. It was only after all that was done and they were curled up together that JC said, "Didn't you take a picture of me?"

AJ rolled over to get his phone from the nightstand and showed JC the photo.

The light made a half-halo over JC's head, and his skin seemed to glow, pink and perfect and complete. AJ had caught him at the perfect moment, his head lifting from the pillow, eyes open a slit, just waking up.

"That's awesome," JC said. He grinned his squint-eyed grin and leaned over to kiss AJ quickly, running his thumb over AJ's beard.

Later, after JC was asleep, AJ pulled out his phone and looked at the picture again, and it wasn't just a beautiful picture of JC; it was a moment captured in time. A reminder.

Sometimes he needed that.


End file.
